“The next Labyrinth will begin upon further notice,” the Caretaker shuffled forward once more, her measured, almost puppeteer-like movements holding everyone’s attention. "But for now..."

She raised both arms in a theatrical gesture, and behind her, the towering gate swung open with surprising grace. The edges of the passageway seemed to shimmer like the surface of still water, reflecting an illusory sky.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

With those words, the woman bent backward into the darkness, disappearing through the open doorway in a single fluid motion.

No further instructions. No chance for questions. A collective hush overtook the assembled group, disbelief and tension mingling in the air.

The silence lasted stifled the crowd until Robin sauntered forward. Humming a jaunty tune under his breath, he flipped a loose lock of blue from his brow and strode forth with little hesitation.

“Are you all so terrified you’ve forgotten how to walk?” he quipped. The words carried a lilt of scornful laughter that set some on edge.

As he moved past Edris and the others, the man cast the group an exaggerated wink as his facial features flickered in a manner that resembled none other than Yukioe. If his co-worker was here at the moment, Edris had no doubt the man would try to punch him in the face.

With mocking flair, Robin spun on his heel and disappeared into the dim passage, Dove following shortly after.

Edris watched his vanishing form with a placid gaze. No trace of annoyance or alarm flickered in his eyes, only a keen, analytical sharpness that shone briefly before he turned to regard his companions.

“You’re letting him go?” Roos offered a faint shrug. Ever the restless, she was already shifting her weight from one left to the other. “I mean, he does give me the ick.”

Ace, meanwhile, rolled his shoulders as though shaking off the tension, the many insignias on his jacket faintly clinking. He exhaled through pursed lips and said nothing, but his narrowed gaze followed Robin until the man was out of sight.

Owein, still holding his spear sword lightly against his hip, brushed away a strand of dark hair that had fallen over his face. He glanced at Edris.

“Follow?”

Edris answered them all with a quiet nod.

Robin’s boldness snapped other players out of their stupor, and they followed in a cautious precession. After everyone had walked through the gates, Edris and the others followed forth.

They passed through swirls of rainbow fog that seemed alive—tendrils of colours that curled around Edris’s boots and trailed across Ace’s coat.

An instant later, the haze lifted, unveiling a vast scene that took shape all at once.

“What in the world…” Roos’s marveling voice sounded beside Edris.

[ANCHOR HOUSE] was far more than just a "house."

Where they had anticipated an austere or foreboding environment, they now beheld a bustling pseudo-town of sun-splashed courtyards, glimmering fountains, and artfully arranged shops.

Ornate street lamps shone gently, spaced along tidy, winding roads that gave way to gardens and plazas. Food stalls lined the edges of a cobblestone square, their enticing scents wafting in the tropical air.

Indeed, it felt closer to a utopia.

Across the way, broad balconies sprouted from the grand facades, festooned with silken banners and potted blooms. Fountains trickled in little pockets of gathering spaces, where clusters of people lounged on cushioned seats, sipping beverages of impossibly vivid hues.

It was easy, in that moment, to forget the mortal danger that had brought them all here. Even the distant hum of music, drifting from the upper levels, spoke more of festivities than survival.

Looking upward, Edris glimpsed only the faintest suggestion of ceilings above.

[ANCHOR HOUSE]—a misnomer if ever there was one—was truly more of a vertical city, its floors stacking like concentric terraces in every direction. Edris’s gaze traced countless balconies and walkways until he reached what should have been the sky; instead, it was the underside of another ring of floors, crowned by a large, glowing timer.

Where numbers ought to be counting down, only a string of question marks blinked in place, as if mocking their uncertainty.

The dark-haired man released a low whistle, palms resting on his hips.

“Looks like money,” he murmured, an indescribable look in his eyes.

Lots of money.

He wondered how much it would take to build something like this in the real world.

Owein’s staff tapped lightly on the smooth cobblestone in a steady rhythm. He studied a group of seemingly carefree visitors engaged in hushed conversation over steaming teacups. Observing how easily they laughed, he pursed his lips in silent thought.

“Comfort can be a trap as much as a gift,” he said finally, motioning for the group to move on. “We should keep our edge.”

The group soon learned that one could freely ascend via several sets of ornate stairs or curved ramps.

They passed through busy corridors illuminated by sconces shaped like lilies, each flickering with a soft, steady light. Windowed arches looked out over the central courtyard, revealing more scenes of greenery, shops, and people strolling about as though in a sheltered paradise.

Just then, Ace broke away from the group, drawn by a display case of weapons—finely crafted blades, crossbows with intricate filigree.

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He peered at them with concentration. Edris popped his head over his shoulder to examine the items, wondering how a place like this had procured such varied items.

Roos joined them, tapping the glass lightly with the back of her index finger.

“A varied collection from Wendimore’s capital.” She whistled. “Whoever set this up wants us well-armed—or at least well-distracted.”

Ace turned to her. “I thought you’re a cook.”

“A culinary innovator,” she corrected. “And it’s not a crime to have hobbies.”

Owein, meanwhile, noticed a well-dressed attendant politely offering refreshments to passersby. The attendant’s smile was both courteous and distant, guiding people toward the nearest set of guest-room floors. Owein bowed his head in thanks, but did not accept anything. Instead, he fell in step behind Edris again.

“It truly feels like a haven. No wonder so many people here can… forget about the Labyrinth.”

“It’s nothing more than self-deception,” Edris said, striding forward. “Like being offered a feast before you while on the execution table. What else can you do but eat?”

Eventually, they found themselves on the seventeenth floor, lured by the promise of a dessert bar tucked away behind heavy drapes of velvet. Upon entering, they discovered an airy lounge boasting grand glass panels that afforded a spectacular view of the tower’s interior.

Rows of pastel pastries, fruit platters, and towering confections stretched along one side, while gleaming dispensers offered an array of drinks.

“All of it… free?” Roos wondered aloud, brushing back a few wisps of her green hair. “I need to meet the culinarian of this place.”

Edris shook his head, lips upturned.

He then noticed that the staff in this establishment looked much like the Caretaker: dressed in crisp, uniform outfits, hair a stark white, and rolling rather than walking in a curiously smooth motion.

They offered delicate trays of refreshments with polite bows, but none wore the strip of pink in their hair that distinguished the Caretaker they had met at the gate.

In one corner of this dessert bar, a man slumped over a table, clearly intoxicated. Several empty bottles had toppled to the ground near his chair.

The group recognized him as the eye-patch player who had almost gotten into a fight at the entrance. His initial rage had disappeared, instead replaced by a languid presence.

Ace, his brows furrowing in quiet disapproval, maintained a subtle distance from the drunken man. A gloved hand rested on the strap of his worn jacket.

Meanwhile, Roos’s eyes flicked back and forth between the pastry spread and the inebriated stranger, torn between curiosity and concern.

A server glided over, bearing no attention to the intoxicated man on the table as she headed straight to Edris's group. Her nametag reading “Server” upon a small plate affixed to her dress shirt. She angled a polite bow.

“Welcome to Anchor Bar,” she said. “May I offer you any drinks or desserts?”

“We're good for now,” Edris replied with a gentle smile, ignoring the burning gaze of the green-haired woman beside him.

Once the server departed, the group settled at a corner table that gave them all a clear view of the lounge and, more importantly, the interconnecting walkways branching across this floor.

Edris laid out the manual that had materialized from his [PROFILE] upon their arrival, smoothing out the pages where bold text offered a condensed explanation of [ANCHOR HOUSE] and its layout.

“Let's organize what we know so far,” he began in his usual calm, measured voice. “First of all, the cards you acquire in your [CARD SLOT] can be used in future Labyrinths—if you end up picking the second well. Your monetary compensation also accumulates here, and once a Labyrinth is completed or you exit the entire series, the money is deposited at once.”

“Before that,” Roos interrupted him as she turned to the group. “Please tell me you all picked the left well.”

“Naturally,” Owein said. “It would be quite reckless to take up an incentive from something as erratic as the Labyrinths without knowing the consequences.”

Roos shifted her gaze to Edris and Ace, who both nodded. Only then did she release a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good.” She leaned back in the lounge chair. “Judging by the other players' intentions, I was beginning to question my common sense.”

She paused briefly, tapping at a diagram on the page. “Wait, so is [ANCHOR HOUSE] a part of this whole Labyrinth shenanigans, have we arrived at somewhere entirely new?”

“It seems like something in between," Edris said.

"Like… a checkpoint bank,” Owein added.

Edris nodded. “That’s the gist of it. We can bring the money we’ve earned back into the next Labyrinth or keep it stored here. If a player doesn’t make it out alive, the funds they’ve collected get redistributed into the Labyrinth, presumably as future compensation for others.”

A subdued silence fell as they pondered the implications of these series of events.

“All of it is outlined here,” he added, scanning the page. “Floors 1 and 2 are for public gatherings, 3 to 15 for guest rooms. Floors 16 to 20 host entertainment spaces—like this dessert bar. Twenty-one…” He paused, letting the information settle.

“The Cocoon,” Ace finished, “where you can write a will in case you die.”

At his words, the group glanced over the railing where, just below, a floor of pure white shone eerily through the filigree patterns. It looked pristine, even inviting, but carried an indescribable incongruity.

“And Floor 22 is,” Owein said, letting out a quiet breath, “the doorway to the next Labyrinth.”

The sense of pressure swelled among them, momentarily pressing down on the pastel colors and cheerful music of the dessert lounge.

As these details sank in, the merriment around them felt strangely distant. The drunken man in the corner let out a low, anguished moan, burying his head in his folded arms on the table. A passing staff member paused to see if he needed help, then moved on in solemn silence when it was clear he wanted none.

Edris’s expression tightened, the nearest thing to a frown he’d openly displayed. The notion of indefinite Labyrinths—each new cycle pulling random victims in—overthrew his earlier assumption that only he, Ace and a handful of others had been snatched away.

"There could be more."

The thought was grim but inevitable. The Labyrinth pulls had been occurring and still were.

Edris hoped that his speculations were no more than pessimism, but it may only be a matter of time before he'd come across more familiar faces.

The Labyrinths, as they’d come to learn, had evolved to not discriminate.

He set the manual aside and squared his shoulders. Across the table, Owein traced the rim of a teacup in absent thought. Ace, still watchful, seemed to notice everything, from Roos’s restless shifting, to a couple across the room discussing their near-death experiences in hushed tones.

Roos herself let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t like it,” she lamented. “Even for just a moment, I don’t like this place.”

Edris closed his eyes for the briefest of instants, clearing the cloud of thoughts. It felt wrong to be lulled into complacency, but even so, he couldn’t deny the allure that [ANCHOR HOUSE] offered the players: respite from the constant fight for survival, a chance to enjoy the finer things, to take a luxurious break—even if it was all an illusion.

However, Edris knew it wasn’t enough.

At least for him, it wasn’t enough.

Roos raised a hand to summon a server.

The server with pale hair and a pristine uniform was at her side in an instant.

“Something to your taste?” the server inquired politely.

“Actually, I’ll take a drink.” Roos gave her a harsh grin.

“The strongest one you have.”

Within moments, the server returned with a crystal glass swirling with an amber-tinted beverage, placing it before Roos with a silent bow. Roos picked it up and gulped it in one go. She scrunched her nose.

“Superficially sweet.”